


In the Quiet Moments

by The_Disaster_Tiefling



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Families of Choice, Friendship, Gen, Memories, spoilers for episode 69
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 08:12:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19421992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Disaster_Tiefling/pseuds/The_Disaster_Tiefling
Summary: “I heard you…”It felt like a lifetime since that moment. That brief second of clarity amongst the rage that had consumed her, when Fjord’s voice had broken through. Perhaps it had been, because time seemed fluid around her, measured in anger and blood, to the point where she felt as though her skin must have been dyed crimson.





	In the Quiet Moments

_“I heard you…”_

It felt like a lifetime since that moment. That brief second of clarity amongst the rage that had consumed her, when Fjord’s voice had broken through. Perhaps it had been, because time seemed fluid around her, measured in anger and blood, to the point where she felt as though her skin must have been dyed crimson.

For the most part, she was lost, trapped behind this anger that was and wasn’t hers. Bound to a path that she didn’t understand, working with and for people that weren’t the people that filled her dreams, and crept into her memories in the quiet moments. It was those moments that she came to treasure. The fleeting times when the person she was…had been…would flicker to life, like a candle flame battling against the wind, a light against the darkness that had claimed them. The precious seconds when she could close her eyes and imagine that she was elsewhere and surrounded by the people she had come to love as her own.

The first time had been days…weeks after she had emerged from the earth as the Orphanmaker, not Yasha. It had been a muggy day, a clammy heat that had clung to her skin, and made the dried blood trickle down, forming morbid patterns, and they had been resting, waiting out the worst of the heat when the first rumble of thunder had sounded in the distance. It was like a drum roll, rolling across open plains, and darkening clouds, and it seemed to resonate through every inch of her body. There was a voice in it, half-forgotten, and until now unmissed, and she had been unaware of moving, of stepping out into the open just as the rain had started to fall. It was a deluge, and she found herself tilting her face up into it, letting the water wash away the red, closing her eyes against the sting of it, and for a brief, wonderful moment her thoughts cleared as thunder cracked above her head.

_They were camping again, which she always preferred. Being walled in always made her uneasy for some reason, maybe because she dreamt of thunder and lightning which could never be contained, or maybe it was that itch that she tried not to acknowledge. That feeling that one day she might become a prisoner of her rage, or by the answers that she hoped to one day find about who and what she really was. Still, she was happy to see them rolling out their bedrolls and building a fire, listening with a faint smile on her lips as Fjord cursed as his efforts to light the campfire were undermined by Caleb tossing a firebolt into the pile of logs, with Caduceus telling them both to behave. Behind her Beau and Nott were bickering about ‘the softest’ piece of ground in the space they had chosen to hole up in for the night, while Frumpkin trotted across to her with a meow, shamelessly begging for fuss as he twinned against her legs._

_She caved quickly, glancing at Caleb as she reached down to scoop up her familiar, but the wizard just nodded as he always did. It warmed her in a way that she didn’t fully understand, still unsure of how he could be so willing to share the cat with him, but endlessly grateful for him doing so. Her smile growing as Frumpkin curled into her, purring as he butted his head against her jaw._

_“You’re really pretty when you smile like that,” Jester exclaimed as she bounced up alongside them, tail waving behind and Yasha blinked at her, smile falling a little as she studied the Tiefling. There was an edge to the smile and a shadow in Jester’s eyes that hadn’t been there before. She’d noticed it before, but never as prominently, and she sighed as she glanced down at the arms holding Frumpkin, remembering the weight of the chains that had held her down. “Yasha…”_

_“We’re safe here.” It wasn’t what she had planned to say, and it came out a little awkward and stilted. Jester stiffened at her words, eyes darting to the rest of their group, and her tail drooping behind, and Yasha was beginning to regret speaking when Jester sighed and smiled at her. It was a proper smile this time. Still a little sad, but the edge was gone, and it reached her eyes._

_“I know it’s…”_

_“Just hard to remember that sometimes,” Yasha finished for her, remembering the nights that she had woken in a panic, from nightmares where the Stormlord still didn’t hear her pleas for help, or where she had been there, but still too late to save Molly. Jester nodded, eyes suspiciously bright as she glanced back around the camp, at their makeshift family, as she echoed softly._

_“Sometimes…”_

Then the thunder rumbled again, and the spell was broken, the image of that night fading back into the red haze, but Jester’s face lingered. Her smile, turning to a broken expression of grief as tears began to run down her cheeks, and as she too began to fade, her voice echoed through Yasha’s mind, screaming her name. She heard it this time, but again it didn’t touch her, cresting against her rage, and breaking like a wave against insurmountable cliffs, and then she was gone again, and the Orphanmaker shook her head, hair lying heavy and wet on her shoulders as she stepped back towards the rocks they had been using as shelter.

_“Yasha!!”_

**

The next time was as her blade cleaved a path through the freshly raised undead guarding the tomb that her companion had guided her too. The stench of death filled her nose, and there was a horrible blackish blood now streaked across the red already staining her skin, making it look like someone had painted her body, making macabre patterns to tell the story of her bloody path. Maybe it was the thought of painting… _‘Jester standing against the wall in her room, paintbrush in hand, squealing at having been caught, as a field of flowers stretched out behind her…’_ ’ Or maybe, it was the way the patterns shifted with her movement, as she turned and ran her blade through the next one, and the next, that reminded her of another patterned body…

_“You should get a tattoo.” Mollymauk was in her tent once more, sprawled across her bed, his tail waving lazily behind him as he watched her cleaning her blade. She wasn’t quite sure why he seemed so eager to seek out her company, especially now that he had recovered from the state they had been in from when they’d found him, becoming a person she could never hope to be. And yet even as he reinvented himself, and became sociable in a way that stunned her, he always sought her out, never put off by her quiet or the fact that she came and went as she pleased._

_“A tattoo…?” Today she replied, glancing across at him with a frown. Blinking as she realised that his collection of tattoos had grown while she had been away, briefly wondering if he intended to cover every inch of his body with art. “Why?” It wasn’t that she was opposed to the idea, she just wasn’t sure what had prompted him to raise the topic right now._

_“Well, we’re partners in crime aren’t we.” His winning grin meant that she couldn’t protest, even though she tried to avoid getting dragged into his mischief. “And I’ve got all this ink…” He rose onto his knees, shameless as he let his shirt slip off his shoulder, to let her see the full spread of colour against his skin._

_“I…”_

Death called her back. Molly’s image wavered and faded, giving way to mottled, grey skin and bared teeth, and she didn’t hesitate to slice across the creature’s throat, adding more black to the painting on her skin. And tried not to think about what Molly would think about the ink on her skin now until she didn’t think anymore. Her blade rising and falling in a deadly rhythm, that bore Yasha away into the deepest recesses of her mind and left the Orphanmaker adding more death to her legend.

And pushed away from the image of a frightened, purple Tiefling rising from the ground…

**

More time passed, and she became aware that others were on her trail. Hunting her. There was a time when that would have made her uneasy, remembering how a shadow had chased her out of this place, and into the Empire, ghosts on her heels at every turn. This was different. She didn’t know the odd group that had tracked her down, and tried and failed to halt her path, but she didn’t fear them. Maybe it had because they seemed to hesitate and hold back, never using their full strength against her, while she had held nothing back against this new obstacle in her path. Or maybe it was the way they had called to her, using a forgotten name, and a tone that the Orphanmaker couldn’t place, but some distant part of her recognised as grief and despair.

They had injured her, though. Not enough to slow her down, but as she stood there as the group fled, chest heaving, she couldn’t help but reach up and touch her nose, hands glowing as she eased the damage that had been inflicted. It still throbbed, and she knew that there was blood smeared across her lip and cheek, from where the fist had caught her nose and slid over as she ducked a second blow… a familiar sensation, and her world dissolved into blue.

_The woman that she had thought was a friend was hitting her, again and again. It fuelled the rage in her, the fury that didn’t come from her, but wasn’t the one that itched at the base of her skull in her darkest moments. It was the rage of someone who had been shown that they had been tricked and betrayed, someone whose ‘friends’ had lead them here, and was now turning fist and blade against them and she snarled, baring her teeth at the woman in front of her. It didn’t stop the final desperate punch, one that sent her staggering back a few steps, and had lightning dancing through her mind._

_The lightning scorched through her thoughts, shattering the haze that had gripped her, and she had a moment of stillness. Of realisation. Then the guilt hit, a heavyweight in the pit of her stomach, and when she blinked, she saw Beau. Saw the desperation, and the fear that it wouldn’t have been enough and the apology slipped out before it was even fully formed._

_“I’m sorry…”_

_I’m sorry… I’m sorry…_ The words echoed through her thoughts now, and she blinked, the blue refusing to fade. The echo struck deep, shaking something in her core, and for a moment, the red seemed to lose ground, and for a moment she was Yasha again, and a low broken noise rose in the back of her throat.

_I…_

It was fleeting. The red rising once more, and all she could do as she fell beneath it was reach out a hand in the direction they’d fled in, fingers closing on thin air.

_I’m still here…_

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of feelings about this episode, and Laura's 'we talked to her in her quiet moments' cut me to the core.


End file.
